As Near to Heaven
by theallbadhat
Summary: A grieving mother kisses Don, magically transforming him into an angellike being complete with wings. MeganDon romance included. Despite his newfound abilities, will a crucial mistake cost Don the life of his brother?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

Author's note: All writing in bold are the disorganized lyrics to Unchained Melody- don't own the copyright. The song was written by Alex North and Hy Zaret. I use the words from Elvis's greatest hits album. I'm still working on DD- will still be doing one chapter a week; but DD takes work, so I started this one to download.

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_**Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea  
To the waiting arms of the sea**_

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"Over here!"

Don spoke into his wrist, conveying a more exact position to the rest of his team, and began to run down the embankment in front of him toward a stream speedily disappearing off into a bramble of trees to his right. A woman sat on her knees at the water's edge, cradling a small child in her arms- both deeply entrenched in the thick mud.

Once Don broke free from the thick tangle of forest he slowed down, not wanting to frighten them, surveying the area in the process, satisfied the three of them were alone. The woman did not respond to his presence, though she had to have heard his shout and the sound of breaking branches when he forced his way through the interlaced foliage and out into the small clearing where she knelt.

"Hey," Don said quietly, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Is she alright?"

Seven hours.

That's how long his team and an eclectic band of volunteers and law enforcement personnel had been searching for the child lying limply in the woman's embrace. Someone had phoned in a tip that they had seen a little girl being dragged into the Dandridge Woods by a man dressed from head to toe in black. Because of his attire, the tipster could not provide a more specific description of the man, but she could provide an explicit one of the little girl.

Amanda Jane Crowell.

They had actually started _looking_ for Amanda three days before their current concentrated search. She was the suspected seventh victim in a string of child-kidnapping/murders that had been occurring, seemingly random, in as many weeks. Nothing seemed to tie the children together- their ages, appearance, height, weight, race, not even their sex, as two of them had been young boys. So dissimilar was each victim that the local police would not have thought to call in the Bureau had it not been for the brutality with which each child had been killed.

It had sickened the local authorities, making men of usual iron will and fortitude rush to the Bureau, practically begging the federal authorities for help. After four different police agencies had filed separate requests, Don's team had stepped in, easily seeing the one similarity between each murder- the means by which the children had died.

It had also sickened them.

The team had been on the case for less than a week when Catherine Crowell had reported her daughter missing to the local authorities and they had patched her plea for help through to the F.B.I. Don happened to be passing by when her picture was laid out on the counter of the Missing Children's section of the Bureau and he had known immediately she was the latest victim of the monster his team was investigating. Something- a gut feeling, some unconscious recognition of a similarity between her and the other victims, fate-whatever it was, Don had just known, and he, David, Megan, and Colby had started looking into her case.

Ms. Crowell had been calm when Megan interviewed her. She had stood by the front window to her small apartment, head angled so that her long black hair fell upon her face, hiding her eyes so Megan could not see what she was really thinking; her left ear tilted out towards the world, as if she were listening for someone- maybe the cry of her missing child. She quietly told Megan that wherever her child was being held, she was unable to speak. Megan had written that remark down with raised eyes, noting that all of the previous victims had been found with the remains of duct tape over their mouths, the Bureau lab reporting the tape had probably been placed there long before their deaths.

"If she could speak," Ms. Crowell had assured Megan, "I would have found her myself."

She had left the room for a brief moment and returned to hand a recent photo of Amanda to Megan, the mysterious woman keeping her eyes lowered as she continued to hide her emotions from the agent. The portrait was of a five year-old girl with hair matching her mother's, long and black, with a wide, inviting smile that punctuated a glowing, happy face.

Angelic, most people would have said.

"We'll do our best to find her," Megan had promised Catherine, receiving no acknowledgement of her words. The woman had already drifted back to the front window and resumed her previous position- as if listening, carefully listening.

Three days later came the call to the Bureau and then Don's team was out in Dandridge Woods along with a select group of agents, police officers, forestry personnel, and volunteers, searching through the overwhelming thickness of trees and various plant life at an exasperatingly slow speed, Don breaking the rules and taking off on his own as the sun was beginning to make its descent into night.

It was in a last burst of sunlight, thrusting through hazy clouds in a long shimmering sheet that illuminated the path before him, that Don had been able to make his way to his current position- a small sanctity from the dense forest, the embankment upon which Catherine Crowell knelt cradling her daughter, finally answering Don's question with a heavy sigh.

"No, she is not alright. She's dead."

Don was taken aback by the simplicity of her statement. He could not form any words that could make that reality any less painful for the woman in front of him. Glancing over her shoulder, he shuddered as he realized the child was in the same brutalized condition as had been all the other victims. Only a mother, he thought sadly, could hold her daughter so close when she was looking like that.

"Help is on the way," Don finally managed to say, chastising himself for his poor choice in words. Obviously, help was beyond the mangled body held so closely to the woman's breast.

Catherine Crowell gently laid her daughter on the ground, her hand crossing over the child's open eyes to lovingly close their lids. She lifted her face, her eyes following the motion of the drowsily gliding water before her till the stream faded from her view, its lonely journey to a distant shore emulating the spirit of her child. "She's dead," Catherine whispered, "and I no longer want to live myself."

Don looked around for his team, for any of the other searchers, but no one seemed to have found their location. He pulled out a GPS locator, punched a few buttons and pressed his lips to his wrist to talk to his team again, then pulled his hand from his face, shook his arm, visually checked the communicator, then tried to speak into it a second time but could not get it to work. Giving up, he lowered himself to sit cross-legged beside Catherine and laid a hand on her back, trying to figure out a way he could offer her comfort when there seemed none available with her daughter dead before her.

Don could feel the deep breathing of the woman vibrating through the palm of his hand. He leaned forward slightly in an attempt to see her face, but her head was bowed as if in prayer, strands of deep black cascading down about it and, as with Megan, preventing him from seeing the expression on her face. Don leaned forward further, keeping his eyes from the dead child as he could hardly bear to see her bruised body, when Catherine suddenly turned her head and stared at him, their eyes only a few inches apart.

The world faded from around Don as he sunk into the depths of her black eyes, the sunlight disappearing, leaving him wrapped within a warm blanket of darkness so thick and heavy upon him that he could not move. Catherine came closer and closer to him, until their lips touched and she spread open his mouth with a quick flick of her tongue, tilting her head to the side so she could position and seal her open mouth over his, their bodies and spirits melded together at that one contact point. Don's consciousness slipped away as he felt her heated breath thrust down his throat, burning a molten path from the center of his being out to the furthest reaches of his extremities, his last awareness the sensual softness of ethereal feathers, their tender strands stroking the expanse of his suddenly naked body- and echoes resounding about him from the slight fluttering of wings.


	2. Ch2

Disclaimer: I do not own the right to Numb3rs or characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

Author's note: Still doing DD- of course, those chapters are about 3-4 times longer, so take more time to write. Sorry.

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_**Lonely rivers cry, wait for me, wait for me **_

_**I'll be coming home, wait for me**_

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"Hurry!"

Charlie grabbed his father's arm, dragging him down the hospital corridor that had become a familiar track to them long since Don had been admitted there. They stopped outside a room in intensive care, looking through the window and trying to see what the doctors were doing to Don, frustrated that their view was blocked by the bodies of various medical personnel stepping busily around him, their hands working quickly.

"When did he wake up?" Alan asked. He leaned his forehead against the glass, willing the blur of motion to stop so he could see his son.

"About thirty minutes ago. He doesn't understand why he's hooked up to all those machines- Doctor Hadiya said he could have torn his esophagus the way he ripped at the ventilator." Charlie stared guiltily into the room. "I tried to calm him down, but he wouldn't listen."

Alan raised his head and gave Charlie a reassuring smile. "Your brother is stubborn- I doubt a long sleep has changed that one iota."

They watched as the bustle of activity slowed. One by one, the personnel left the room, only a single doctor and nurse remaining. Alan and Charlie waited to be invited in, both because they didn't want to disturb the ongoing medical ministrations and because they wanted time to think about how to answer the bundle of questions Don was sure to ask them about the time he had been in the hospital. They're hesitation to enter the room was whisked away when Don sat upright and threw his legs over the side of the bed in an attempt to leave. Charlie and Alan rushed into the room and sided with the medical personnel, helping them carefully but forcefully lay Don back down.

"Dammit! I'm alright." Don struggled against four sets of arms. "I don't want to be here anymore!"

Alan firmly told his son, "Stay still!" Adding gruffly, "I'm too old to be fighting with you."

Don guiltily looked at the strain in his father's face. He eased his movements, settling back onto the bed. With a sigh of relief, the nurse repositioned his legs under the blankets and reattached several wires that Don had pulled loose amidst the throws of his endeavor to escape.

Dr. Hadiya looked at Don's chart, murmured a few comments and then addressed her patient. "Agent Eppes, I understand your desire to depart from this place. However, you must have a thorough physical examination first. If everything checks out, you can leave tomorrow morning- is that agreed?"

Don nodded sullenly.

Before the doctor could leave, Alan took a hold of her arm and steered her to the door of the room. "Tomorrow? Won't he need physical therapy or something? I've been reading up on his condition and never heard of someone leaving within a day of"-

Dr. Hadiya pushed a long strand of black hair behind her right ear. "Don's mind and lungs were in a coma but the rest of his body was functioning perfectly fine- he might be a little stiff, a little disoriented, however, I suspect the tests we are going to give him will confirm nothing more than that. Once he understands what happened and adjusts to the time loss, I do believe he will be more than capable of going home tomorrow. Really, I could probably release him within a few hours, but I do tend to be cautious."

"Well, thank you for that, I guess." Alan's brow burrowed into three crooked lines. "Should we be the ones to talk to him about what happened to him- or do we need to wait for a psychologist?"

"I think it would be best if you and your son talk to Don. It has been my experience that news of this sort is better received from loved ones who can offer proper emotional support." Dr. Hadiya checked her watch, made a notation, and turned to leave. "Just in case you're a little worried about his mental and physical condition, I'll prescribe bed rest for a week." She winked at Alan. "Make it impossible to refuse an offer to stay with you."

Alan grinned at her. "You must have been reading my mind."

After the doctor and nurse left the room, Alan quickly returned to Don's side. Charlie was sitting on the bed opposite to him, refusing to let go of Don's hand despite his brother's attempts to pull himself free.

"So, sleepyhead, how do you feel?" Alan asked.

"Fine, perfectly fine. I don't understand why they just don't let me go home." Don tugged on his hand, but Charlie's grip tightened in response, making Don roll his eyes in exasperation. "Buddy, let go. You're acting like it's been years since you saw me."

Charlie exchanged a glance with his father, one that was not lost on Don.

Sitting up suddenly, Don finally managed to free himself from Charlie. "It hasn't been, has it? I mean, years?"

"No," Alan told him. He put his hands on Don's shoulders and forced him to lie down again. "But it has been over a month."

Don's eyes widened and he ran his right hand across his forehead. "Over a month?"

Charlie took advantage of his brother's distraction and grabbed his left hand, this time holding it with both of his own, stating, "Actually, it has been forty days- almost to the minute from the last time anyone had contact with you in Dandridge Woods."

Don stared at the ceiling, his eyes clouding over. "Amanda Jane," he whispered dreamily.

Alan started brushing his fingers through Don's hair, something he had been doing habitually ever since his son had first been admitted to the hospital. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"Yes, and...no."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I remember finding Amanda Jane dead- and I don't want to talk about that. But I want to know what happened afterwards- I can't seem to remember anything after calling in our location to the rest of the team." Don's eyes lowered to his father's. "Megan- has anyone contacted her? Let her know I'm awake?"

Charlie kept his eyes on Don's hand and his own, silent, leaving the question to be answered by their father. "No, Donny," Alan said softly, "I don't think she'd want to be here."

"Why not?" Don asked nervously. "She's already moved on? I mean, it's only been a month...?"

"Forty days," Charlie reminded him.

Like Charlie, Alan decided to sit on the bed besides his son, taking his right hand and holding it tight. "The circumstances," he began, then stopped to rethink his words, "the way they found you in Dandridge Woods- it upset her, Donny. You don't remember anything that happened after finding that child and her mother?"

Don closed his eyes, trying to picture the recent past. Finally, he opened his eyes, shaking his head. "No, just seeing Amanda Jane lying there so...so... I really don't want to talk about...about her." Don frowned. "What do you mean after I found Amanda _and her mother?_ Dad, nobody else was there- just me and Amanda."

"That's all you remember, Donny?"

"Yes. Dad, please- tell me what upset Megan."

"Donny, I read the reports- David slipped them to me, and I have to admit, I was also disturbed."

"What...what was wrong?"

Alan sighed. "It was just, I don't know- the whole thing was so strange. Megan and Colby found you in the last position you gave them- on the bank of a stream. Amanda Jane was there- they said the poor child had been dead for some time. But her condition, unfortunately, was not what they found unusual." Seeing the dread that filled Don's eyes, Alan hesitated to continue.

"Dad, please, I need to know what happened."

Because of his own discomfiture, Alan was unable to look at his son any longer. He turned away before he explained, "Don, Catherine Crowell was there with you, on the embankment. You were wrapped in her arms, legs all tangled up, the two of you bundled together next to that dead child."

Don began to sweat. He sat up, leaning into his father's shoulder, whispering in his ear. "We must have fainted or something- it wasn't anything else. I swear I'd never, not with a victim's parent...not right next to a dead child...oh, please, don't tell me Megan thought we were...I wouldn't, Dad, I swear...I couldn't."

"I know, Donny. It's just, you and Catherine Crowell," Alan turned to look directly in Don's horrified eyes, "you were both naked, Don, no clothing or gear within miles of where they found you. Believe me, they looked."

"What did Ms. Crowell say about it?" Don asked, desperate to know how they had ended up that way, the memory lost to him.

"Nothing, Don," Alan replied sadly, "she was unable to say a thing. I think that is what upset Megan so much, seeing you two lying there naked in each other's arms, your lips locked onto Catherine Crowell's so strongly they had to literally pry you apart. Only, Donny...

Catherine Crowell was dead."


End file.
